Sorry, you must be a member of this group to do that.
I gave a little skip. “Oh, I keep meaning to come here. Go to Portobello Market, and The Gate, and nose into all the weird little shops, and post endless Instas of myself eating biscotti and reading Sartre in quirky cafés.” “That’s”—Caspian seemed to be struggling not to smile—“quite a specific vision.” “Yeah. And I don’t even like Sartre.” “I see.” “Or biscotti.”
